An Unlikely Matchmaker
by pinksnowboots
Summary: Canada, a rarely noticed and single nation, turns out to be the perfect person to observe all the unresolved sexual tension among the nations and help them resolve it. Many pairings, but Canada will not be involved with anyone. First pairing: UsUk
1. Chapter 1

So, I know, I really shouldn't start a new multi-chap fic when I should be working on Camera Confessions. But I kept getting ideas for other pairings and instead of making them all oneshots, I decided to string them together as couples who get set up by Canada. Canada is single in this fic because I feel like he's usually written as kind of dependent on a relationship with France or Prussia. I want to write one where he's single and happy with it and getting recognition for his own actions, although there will be mentions of past FranCan and maybe onesided PruCan and CubaCan. Anyway, there will be a lot of pairings in this but the first one is UsUk, because I love it. This is just the setup chapter really. I'll write what happens with Alfred and Arthur next (maybe tonight?).

Warnings: I don't own Hetalia and I like to cursing and stories about gay men. You have been warned.

Feel free to message me/review with ideas or pairing suggestions. I already have most of the pairings planned out, but if you want a certain one that is on my list, reviewing and mentioning it will make me maybe write it sooner.

Alright, I think that's all. Enjoy! :)

* * *

Sometimes perpetually single people make the best matchmakers.

Although Canada was not perpetually single, he was currently and was not in a hurry to change that. A relationship with France was...exhausting. Enjoyable, sometimes. Definitely enlightening. But exhausting. And Matthew did not regret its end. He and Francis were still friends, meaning that Francis still groped him recreationally.

But even though he was single, the relationship with France had taught him a little about the ways that people show love and lust. Combined with the fact that he was barely ever noticed, Canada found himself in a position to observe all the sexual tension between the nations.

In fact, surprising as it was, he was a superb matchmaker.

He had a better record than even Hungary and had a long list of couples who owed their relationship to the quiet nation. It was surprising, but Canada enjoyed it. He also found that he enjoyed being able to do something on his own, without France or America there to help him. The nations who he gave advice to started to notice him more often, and Canada became a popular nation due to his own contributions rather than hanging on the coattails of a boyfriend or his brother.

Matthew decided he rather like being single (but making sure the other nations weren't).

It had all started with America and England.

…...

The day was July 3rd, and Alfred was being unusually annoying. Actually, he was being just as annoying as he always as right before his birthday for a very different reason. Usually America planned a huge party for his birthday, complete with cake and tons of hamburgers (from McDonalds, of course). Every year he invited Arthur and every year, Arthur not so politely declined, preferring to get utterly drunk in his own house. Every year, Alfred pouted but didn't press the issue.

Matthew was used to dealing with America on the 3rd. America would be bouncing off the walls with excitement, planning the best party to date.

"Mattie, do we need more streamers?"

"Mattie, does this cake have enough icing?"

"Mattie, want a hamburger?"

"Mattie, what'd ya get me?"  
And Matthew always put up with it for one day.

This year was different. America was still incessantly pestering his brother, but he seemed apprehensive rather than excited.

"Mattie, d'ya think England'll come this year?"

"Mattie, should I call Arthur again?"

"Mattie, why does the old man hate my birthday so much?"

Alfred was still behaving like a child, but he was _pouting_ rather than bouncing. Matthew was a very patient nation, but he finally snapped.

"Alfred, would you just _shut up _for a moment?"

America shut up, unused to his timid twin being commanding.

"Ok, now, tell me _why _you are making such a fuss about Arthur this year."

Alfred's expression changed from petulant to a bit sheepish.

"Um, well...you see...heh heh."

"_Alfred."_

"Alright Mattie! Geez, don't get your panties in a wad."

"_Alfred..._"

Matthew could look downright menacing when he tried.

"Fine. It's because...Mattie, I _like _Arthur. Like, in a not-just-friendly way."

Canada took this calmly, having seen the sexual tension between the two for years.

"How long have you felt this way?"

"Ummm...since right before the Revolution."

Alfred looked abashed.

"Alfred! That long? Why the hell didn't you tell him?"

"Well, after the whole...independence thing...he was kinda angry and I figured it wasn't the time. And then I got nervous. I was trying to get up the courage to tell him tomorrow. But I don't think I can." Alfred sighed, smirking ruefully. "Not very heroic, right?"

"Ok. Now one more question. Why did you revolt. You knew it would hurt him."

"Because. I couldn't feel that way if I were his brother. So I left." Alfred grew slightly defensive. "I didn't plan for it to work out this way!"

Canada sighed at his brother's capacity to overlook the obvious.

"Alfred, you are an idiot."

America looked hurt, like a kicked puppy (with glasses and a bomber jacket). He started to defend himself, but was cut off by Canada.

"Arthur's loved you for just as long, if not longer. Everyone except you knows that."

Alfred looked completely shocked and unheroic, confusedly stuttering. "He...I...what?"

"And every 4th of July he drinks himself into a stupor because he thinks you left because you didn't want him. It's your fault, Alfred. I know you didn't want to hurt him, but you did."

America remained unable to speak, but took on a distressed expression at the pain he had caused England.

"So, here is what you're going to do. You're going to play the hero, a century too late, but whatever. You are going to get on a plane to London and get your sorry American ass over to Arthur's house tomorrow morning before he gets to drunk to understand. And you are going to tell him what you told me. Got it?"

Alfred nodded dumbly for a moment, then jumped up in his typical fashion, his "I'm planning a hero move" look back on his face.

"Thanks Mattie! I know what I'm gonna do!"

The eager American ran out of the room, leaving Canada shaking his head.

_He better not screw this one up._


	2. UsUk

Alfred moved with a person, rushing to the airport, stopping only once, in his storage closet to pick up a small piece of fabric. He tenderly folded it and placed it in a box, then bounded off at record speed.

Alfred reached England in the wee hours of the morning, but had enough decency to loiter around Arthur's house until 7, when he knew the Brit would be waking up. As soon as the his watch beeped, he began to thump on the door.

"Arrrtie!"

Apparently being nervous didn't make Alfred any more mature.

"Iggy! Arthur! Open the door!"

After some determined knocking, an annoyed Brit opened the door.

"Alfred. Why the bloody hell are you here? It's your _birthday_, right?"

Arthur practically spat the words at him. Alfred stepped tentatively over the doorstep, holding out the plain box as a peace offering.

"I know. But I realized how selfish I've been for the last century or so. So I came to say sorry."

Arthur's annoyance melted at the American's earnest face. He was always so open.

"Fine. You can come in." Arthur allowed, adding a muttered _"Git" _for good measure.

Alfred smiled. These were the kind of insults he could deal with, as the Englishman always said them with a gruff sort of affection.

"Ok." Said Englishman growled. "Talk."

Ok, maybe not so affectionate at the moment.

"Artie, I'm sorry. I didn't realize how much my birthday hurt you."

Arthur snorted, whispering _"No, wasn't obvious or anything. Bloody oblivious Americans."_

The personification of oblivious Americans continued, undaunted. "I shouldn't have made a big deal about celebrating. I just wanted us to be close again. Friends. And I was stupid. So today I'm spending time with you instead, to start to make up for all those years. Because I want you to know that I do still care about you." Alfred shoved the box at the shorter man. "This is for you. I found it in my closet and I thought of you."

Arthur softened as he carefully opened the box, unfolding an authentic Grand Union flag, which was much like the American flag, but instead of 50 stars, it featured a Union Jack in the upper lefthand corner.

"Alfred, why did you give me this?"

"Because you're still part of me, Arthur. I didn't leave because I didn't want to be with you. I left because I didn't want to be with you as a brother."

Alfred looked into Arthur's eyes shyly, then gently kissed the Brit, softly and quickly. After pulling back, he said "I love you." Simply and directly, expecting to be run out of the house.

To his surprise, he only felt arms and the fabric of a flag around his shoulders as Arthur pulled him back to kiss him again, more passionately this time, lacing his hands in the American's hair. As they kissed, releasing centuries of built up desire, Arthur replied in a soft whisper.

"I love you too, you git. It just took you a century or so to notice."


	3. Spamano

Quite honestly, I am not super pleased with this chapter. Or that last chapter. They are fairly short and pretty similar to most stories for these pairings. I haven't been overly innovative and it is disgustingly fluffy without me actually writing any kisses that aren't fade to black type deals. I keep getting ideas but they aren't turning out as well as I'd like. Rawr.

Ok, so enough self deprecating. Actual warnings. Thank goodness I don't own Hetalia or it might be like this all the time, it is Spamano so there is cursing. Duh. And Canada is majorly OOC, because I'm writing him a little less meek. He's been in and out of a relationship with France, so he's a little more independant, although still semi invisible. And I wrote total stereotype Spamano. Either Spain is truly clueless or he's a damn good actor. I always think of him as a hapless puppy type person, always bouncy and enthusiastic.

And I did use a little Spanish and Italian, but most of it is pretty obvious except one word. _Casamentero_=matchmaker.

Anyway, I said I'd stop bashing myself and I didn't. Sorry. :/ Please actually read the chapter, perhaps it's not as bad as I think. I'm kinda tired right now anyway.

Just a note: Here is a list of my planned future pairings for this story. I'm not planning on altering any of them, but if you would vote for your favorite that would help me decide which to write next. Ok, list:

PruHun, DenNor, SuFin, maybe GerIta, AusSwis, GiriPan, ChinaSK, IceHK, EgyptTurkey, and some onesided things with other nations and Canada. If you can think of any I haven't mentioned, please let me know!

Hope you enjoy despite the obnoxious AN!

* * *

The next afternoon, America sent his brother a guarantee of a lifetime supply of McDonalds and England gave Canada a batch of homemade scones. Both sent an apology about the other's poor choice in gifts.

Later that day Canada was faced with an overeager Spaniard bounding into his house.

"Caaaaanada? Caaaaaaaaaanada? Where are you?" Spain barged through the house hunting for Canada, eventually giving up and sitting down right next to the man he was searching for.

"Hello Spain." Canada was used to being overlooked, but he was just a bit annoyed at Antonio's random appearance in his house.

Spain literally jumped out of his seat. "Dios! Matthew, you should not sneak up on people like that."

Canada gave an internal sigh. He had learned from his time dating a member of the "Bad Touch Trio" that it would do no good to scold Antonio. He was immune to annoyance, probably due to living with Romano. Well, they weren't _technically _living together, but Romano spent more time at the Spaniard's house than he did his own. And it was no secret that Spain harbored some not-so-platonic feelings for the older Italy.

"Yes Spain. What do you need?"

Spain grinned sheepishly, looking pretty adorable, like a child asking for a puppy for Christmas. Spain _was_ fairly immature much of the time, in a charmingly oblivious way.

"Well, I heard that because you scolded your dear brother, he and England have finally acknowledged the amor they hold for each other. And if you could get those two together, you must be quite a _casamentero_, because England is not very friendly and America is _very _friendly."

Antonio flashed another winning smile at Matthew before stating his actual request.

"So I was wondering if you could do the same for _mi Romano_. Maybe make him willing to admit that he doesn't hate me, at least."

"Spain, I'm not a miracle worker. Anyone could see the sexual tension between America and England."

Antonio made puppy dog eyes, begging shamelessly.

"But Matthew! You must have done something. Please help me, great _casamentero_, I am begging you."

Matthew looked wryly at the Spaniard, who had gotten on his knees. "I can see that."

Spain sprung to his feet. "So you'll help?"

Nobody could refuse that kind of enthusiasm. Not even Matthew, who grew up with the very enthusiastic Alfred.

"Fine. But I promise, all I did was give Alfred some advice."

"Then give me some advice on how to woo Lovino!"

"I don't know much about…wooing, but I have some advice about Romano."

Spain looked at him raptly, hanging on to every word.

"Stop coddling him, Antonio! He takes it for granted that he can treat you badly and you will still fawn over him."

"But I will! Lovi is just too cute to punish!"

Canada did not particularly want to get involved in any issue involving the hot tempered Italian.

"Well, that's my advice. I told you, I'm not a matchmaker!"

"Ha ha! _Gracias, _Canada!" Undeterred, Spain vigorously shook Canada's hand, jarring the smaller nation, and ran out the door.

_He's going to get himself beat up. _ Canada thought as he watched the enthusiastic Spaniard bound off.

* * *

"Looovi!" Spain burst into his house, full of energy. He still had no plan, but he had talked to Canada, so something had to go right.

"_Ciao, bastardo!_" Antonio heard Lovino call down from the bedroom. Although their relationship was currently platonic (with thick sexual tension), Romano treated Spain's house as his own, including the bedroom.

Spain smiled, used to insults as greetings, farewells, and everywhere else in conversation.

"Lovi, I'll be outside picking the tomatoes!" Spain's tomatoes were just ripening and it was time to begin to harvest them. Sometimes Romano would decide to help, but today he was not in the mood. Whether he helped or not, Antonio would always bring in the first tomato he picked for Lovi to taste.

"Oy, tomato bastard. Do you think I care?"

"Love you too Lovi!"

"Pervert!"

Spain walked outside, whistling. He was completely unfazed, as this was their typical relationship dynamic and he was used to Lovino's…_quirks_.

Antonio cheerfully stripped his shirt and began to harvest the first tomatoes of the season, setting aside the very first one that he had picked. Unknown to him, Romano was watching him from the window of the bedroom that was technically Antonio's, but which they shared more often than not. Although it shamed the Italian to even admit it to himself, Spain, was very _very_ attractive, tanned, lean and muscular. And with an accent to boot. But these were the kind of thoughts which were private, and only made Lovi more verbally abusive later.

As Spain carried the last of the ripe tomatoes into his kitchen, he grabbed the first tomato, planning on presenting it to Romano.

_But wait, Canada said not to coddle him! So maybe I should make him share? But Lovi's not that good at sharing. I suppose I could just eat it myself…_

As Antonio walked into his house, he was greeted by a very demanding Italian.

"Oi, Tonio. Where's my tomato?"

Spain hesitated for a moment. He was not very good at refusing Lovi, but if it would make the Italian fonder of him, then he would try. Canada would not give bad advice.

"No Lovi, this year I thought I would try the first tomato. You never share, so I never get to taste."

Romano was frozen for a moment, unused to being refused by his pushover ex-boss. "Damn tomato bastard! That's my tomato!"

Spain, as usual, failed to pick up on the extent of Lovino's annoyance. "Language, Lovi. And this time, it's my tomato."

Antonio bit into the tomato with Romano staring murderously. It was very ripe and as Antonio broke the skin, a thin line of juice rolled down his chin. The Italian watched, mesmerized with a combination of rage and lust, neither of which the Spaniard detected.

"It's very good, Lovi. I'll get you another one later." Spain continued eating, oblivious to Romano's internal combustion as Antonio messily bit pieces of tomato, finally popping the last piece into his mouth and licking his lips. Still chewing, he turned to Lovi. "Sorry you didn't get to taste that. It was _muy bueno_."

Lovino snapped as it hit home that Spain, _his _easygoing, clueless ex-Boss Spain, had just denied him a tomato and was currently finishing said tomato, licking the juice from his lips. Before either realized what was happening, Lovino had stepped forward and smashed his mouth against Antonio's, tasting the last vestiges of tomato juice on the Spaniard's lips.

Antonio took a moment to comprehend what was happening, then reluctantly pushed Romano away. "You shouldn't do things like that just because you want a tomato. You could just ask."

Romano stared at Spain like he was the single most dimwitted moron he had ever met. "You fucking idiot. I don't want the damn _tomato_."

Antonio looked at how red his Lovi's face was and how ferocious he was being. It was adorable and he couldn't help murmuring. "No, _I _am the one who wants a tomato."

Lovino turned even brighter red, but continued, quickly mumbling the words. "I don't know how the _hell_ you haven't noticed, but I would much rather have the bastard who picks the tomatoes."

Spain grinned even wider and pulled Romano back towards him. "Awwww, Lovi I love you too!"

The Italian didn't even put up more than a token protest as he wound his arms around his oblivious, perpetually cheerful, pushover, sexy, idiot tomato bastard's neck as he gruffly whispered, "Shut up, _bastardo_." before kissing Spain again.

The first tomato had never tasted so good.


End file.
